Volume I, Number 8.
Long Beach, California.
November 26, 1938.
HOUSTON MEETS PENSACOLA
In Boxing and Wrestling Smoker
AT one o'clock this afternoon our wrestling and boxing teams will square
off against the teams of the U.S.S. Pensacola in the first official meet of the
season. Most of us remember the defeat we suffered last year when they took
both the boxing and wrestling championships within the division. We won all
Be at the Admiral Leigh Gymnasium, San Pedro to cheer our boys towards
a victory. We hope to turn the tables this time. It will be the first hard hurdle
towards our group championship.
Both teams have worked hard in
preparing for these matches so the
little cooperation you can give them
by your attendance will show them
that the ship is behind them a hundred percent.
The ship's entries in boxing and
wrestling are as follows:
Colbert, M. H., Sea2c
Holton, H., Matt2c
Martin, M. F., Sealc
Hodge, M., Matt2c
Harris, C. W., Pvt.
Adams, W. L., Cox.
Lewdanski, J., Sea2c
Chick, E. A., Flc
Drover, R. M., MM2c
Keimel, R. M., Flc
Arthur, R. J., GM2c
Butler, 0., Cox.
Fordemwalt, J. W., GM3c
Miller, J. R., Sealc
Vassar, E. B., Cpl.
Commmander Robert E. Keating,
Flag Secretay to Admiral Kalfbus,
collapsed and died Wednesday of
this week at Pico St. Navy Landing, Long Beach.
As he stepped on the float from
the BatFor barge he collapsed,
saying, "Get me a doctor." Those
were his last words. He did not
Commander Keating will be remembered as Gunnery Officer on
the Houston, having been relieved
of his duties by Lt.Comdr. Strother
at which time Commander Keating
went to duty on the California.
He was a good officer, loved, honored and respected by all who
knew him. More cannot be said —
his loss is deeply felt — may he
rest in peace.
Commander Keating is survived
by his wife, Mrs. Margaret Keating, a son, Robert E. Keating, Jr.,
19 and a daughter, Margaret C.
THE INEVITABLE CHAIR
A Short Story
Death! Not the violent bleeding
form but creeping, sly, and malevolent, the kind which causes a man's
nerves to shriek out in anquish. Already the cadaverous tinge was beginning to show with the dull, lacklustre hue of departed life. What I
had feared had happened. It wasn't
my fault. But try and tell them that.
Sure, I was responsible. They'd find
out sooner or later. I knew they'd
get me. I hadn't planned it, yet I
hadn't done a thing to avoid the slow
cankerous trend of death — and I
alone could have prevented this from
Have you ever known a fear so devoid of hope that your bones might
well have been made of jelly or your
blood of some insipid fluid for all
the good they did beyond just keeping you together with a weak spark
of life ? That was the kind of stark
fear which gripped my soul when I
visualized the inevitable ending. There
could only be one ending — the chair.
Yet over and over, in my mind, I
pondered ways of escape. I racked
my brain for a tiny idea which might
show me the loophole. But alas, my
best efforts were of no avail and I
knew that I must make those flagging, fearful steps to the chair. There
was no other course so I gave myself up.
The chair was before me now. A
little courage must have came to my
rescue because I was walking towards
it entirely unaided. The Latins light
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